Trees creaked somberly as a boy stood at the foot of a tombstone, unmoving and silent. The graveyard was still, an almost pleasant place to be, with the late noon sun shining directly above it. The grass shivered slightly in the wind as the boy kneeled at the stone's base, lowering his eyes. He whispered something, touching the engraving on its cold surface.
"Hamlet?"
The boy straightened abruptly. "Oh, it's you, Horatio," he said, relaxing at the sight of his friend. "I thought it was… someone else," he finished vaguely. He reached down to brush imaginary dust off his trousers.
Horatio scratched his nose uncertainly. "What are you up to, Hams?" he asked, eyeing the stone with weariness.
"Just thinking," Hamlet said soberly, patting the large grey stone. A piece crumbled off. Horatio nodded, and they stood there for a few minutes, staring at the crevice that piece had just left.
"Hm…" said Horatio pensively.
In one sudden motion, Hamlet let out a frustrated roar of anger and kicked the grave marker. It swayed on its flimsy foundation and came down on the freshly packed soil in front of it with a dull flump.
Horatio's eyes widened in alarm, but he did not step back even as Hamlet twitched wildly in a fit of what appeared to be pent up rage. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but the words were not coming.
"Fuck!" he screamed finally. "Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" He sent another flailing kick at the tombstone. Searing pain shot through his foot.
He sank onto the stone, crying bitterly. "Just… fuck..." he whispered, burying his head in his arms.
Horatio sighed heavily. He took a seat next to his quaking friend and put a reassuring arm around him. Hamlet flinched, but made no move to throw the arm off.
"He's gone," Hamlet said shakily, as though the realization had only just dawned. He sounded lost. Horatio squeezed his shoulder, but said nothing. Hamlet shivered involuntarily.
"I didn't even…" Hamlet shook his head, looking desperately at his sleeves. "Not so much as a goodbye." He turned his distraught gaze to Horatio, who noticed the almost solid redness of his eyes. "I've lost everything."
"You've got Ophelia," Horatio reminded him gently. Hamlet appeared nauseous at the thought and muttered incoherently under his breath. Horatio caught the phrases "walking brothel in a pretty dress" and "to a nunnery", but didn't press the issue.
"Your mum?" he asked, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. Hamlet turned a slight shade of green.
"What about me?" Horatio asked quickly to avoid an explosion with the potential of a geyser.
"I'm not worth half a ducat to you at this point," Hamlet said miserably, breaking eye contact to watch a millipede scuttle across his boot.
Quite unexpectedly, and with unprecedented swiftness and accuracy, Horatio punched him in the stomach.
Hamlet cried out. "What was that for?" Unable to stand and rush away to safety, he settled for inching away slowly to the far side of their shared seating.
"I figured you needed some physical pain to bring you back to reality," Horatio replied evenly.
Hamlet glared at him, clutching his abdomen. "I feel that I qualify as quite experienced in the realm of pain as it is, thanks."
"Then maybe you shouldn't talk like that," Horatio shot back. "It's bad enough to listen to you dash around the castle discussing suicide with the curtains—"
"You heard that?" Hamlet asked, mortified.
"—But I will not have you wallowing in a bog of self pity around me, understand?" said Horatio with uncharacteristic sternness.
"What else did you hear?" asked Hamlet nervously, thinking back to his vengeful plans and other sinister musings.
"Wha— You're not even listening to me!" Horatio threw up his hands in exasperation.
"Curtains, bogs, suicide," said Hamlet humbly.
Horatio harrumphed and made a move to get up. "No, no!" Hamlet cried desperately, pulling Horatio back down. "I'm sorry, I really was listening," he insisted. "I'll stop. I promise."
Horatio considered this for a second. "On one condition," he said seriously, looking directly into Hamlet's eyes. Hamlet nodded emphatically.
For a split second, Hamlet thought Horatio was going to bite his nose off. "Ahh!" he cried, jerking back.
Horatio rolled his eyes. "Have it your way," he said.
Hamlet was about to voice his confusion when Horatio pushed him roughly onto his back. "Hey, wait!"
Horatio ignored him, planting himself quite expertly over Hamlet's wriggling form. Hamlet turned his head to the side to catch sideways view of the stone's inscription—"...ing Hamlet of Denm…"—and groaned (whether it was from the realization of where he was or Horatio's oddly soothing weight across him, it wasn't clear.)
"Don't bother fighting it," Horatio whispered into his ear. Hamlet's eyes widened in alarm and his pupils dilated as Horatio's hands made their way deftly into places that Hamlet was sure they weren't allowed to be. As they found their prime target, Hamlet heeded Horatio's sagely words and let out a ragged sigh.
He didn't turn as Horatio leaned in, accepting his lips without protest. It didn't even bother him that this might be something the church would cry out against. It felt too… natural. The sensations were practically borderlining divinity, in fact.
His heartbeat picked up its pace as Horatio's fingers continued with their skilled maneuvers. He gripped the edge of the stone, overwhelmed by the feelings surging through him. He made a slight noise, causing Horatio to un-stick his mouth from Hamlet's in order to grin deviously at him.
Hamlet barely saw this however, because at that precise second, a tremor ran through him, clouding his vision with green and red dots. He gasped loudly. He grabbed onto the back of Horatio's shirt for unnecessary support.
Horatio rolled off the boy, satisfied with his work. He lay there on his side, watching Hamlet catch his breath as though he'd just run in a forty meter dash. "How was it?" he asked a few minutes later, thoroughly amused.
"Oh my…" Hamlet trailed off, blushing.
Horatio hopped up off the stone. "Where are you going?" asked Hamlet quickly.
"Gotta get to the castle for my lessons," he said, smirking. Hamlet's blush deepened. "But don't worry," Horatio added. Hamlet's looked at him hopefully. "I expect you to return the favor next time."
Hamlet looked as though he wanted to inquire about how soon "next time" would be, but Horatio was already a considerable way down the roughly made road. He wasn't sure what caused him to do it, but he called out loudly after Horatio, "Thank you!"
Horatio didn't slow or turn around, but he raised an arm in acknowledgement and waved.
Heaving a deep sigh, Hamlet let himself fall back down onto the tombstone. He hadn't felt this relaxed in months. Perhaps he could put off all sinister plotting to another time.